


The Rapture

by accrues, Erya



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode s03e13, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Knifeplay, M/M, Marcus does not want emotions, Marcus has emotions, Oral Sex, Power Play, That episode tag you know you wanted, Under-negotiated Kink, Wings, does this mean Lucifer is the emotionally healthy one, more irreverent bible references, not another wip, that can't bode well, unprotected oral sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 06:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13541556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accrues/pseuds/accrues, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erya/pseuds/Erya
Summary: Lucifer is over the moon to have a new friend. Marcus is less so. These are their adventures.





	The Rapture

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back with more Lucifer/Pierce (AKA: _Porningstar_ \- never has a portmanteau ship name been so on point!) No longer even sorry because the show is amazing and didn’t Joss our last effort.
> 
> This started off life as an innocent little PWP and then Erya came along and now it's grown teeth and a plot, oh my. >:[ 
> 
> Title from [The Rapture](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxgYuW5GeI8) by Puscifer. You can listen to see why.
> 
> Spoilers for 3x12 and 3x13.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer and Pierce continue their first night as divorcees with... interesting results.

The chainsaw, while deeply entertaining (5/5, would dismember again, really must remember to leave a review), makes a _lot_ of mess.

Lucifer is _still_ hard at work mopping blood from the floor - the cleaning tools from Lux will all have to be replaced after this, they look like he spilled cranberry vodkas everywhere and he can’t have anyone thinking that’s the drink of choice at his establishment. Bad enough that Amenadiel drinks Cosmos.

‘Lucifer.’

He’s perched on his knees, eyeing the floor tiles when Pierce stumbles into the room looking exhausted but rumpled and wet from a much needed shower.

‘There you are,’ Lucifer appreciates the way Pierce’s shirt clings to his chest, eyes the erect nipples showing through the fabric. ‘I was just getting essence of murderer out of the grouting.’ He graciously ignores the flat look he gets in return.

‘I told you the chainsaw wouldn’t work,’ Pierce points out, picking up the jacket he’d cast to the side earlier in the evening.

‘Yes well, no one likes a told-you-so,’ Lucifer tuts, climbing to his feet. ‘My therapist has told me I need to vent my frustrations in appropriate ways.’

‘That’s right,’ Pierce sounds amused, ‘you see a therapist. Only in LA.’

‘She’s been quite helpful, really,’ Lucifer acknowledges, abandoning his cleaning products to cross to the bar. ‘Have _you_ considered going? You would be a prime candidate, what with all the brooding existential angst.’

He strips off his pink rubber gloves and reaches for the bottle of whiskey he’d left there. ‘After all, we did made several breakthroughs just the other day - I had no idea Doctor Linda’s day job was so easy.’

‘No,’ Pierce replies dryly. ‘We didn’t.’

Lucifer just smirks at him, pulling out whiskey tumblers. ‘Drink before you go? You can hardly drive sober.’

Pierce just stares at him. ‘You know what, I’m shocked Decker has lasted this long without killing you.’

‘Hmm,’ Lucifer hums, pouring two glasses. ‘As you so kindly pointed out, she did shoot me.’

‘You probably deserved it,’ Pierce lets out a soft groan as he follows Lucifer to the bar, left hand resting on his right wrist - the last limb Lucifer had severed.

‘Maybe,’ Lucifer concedes. There’s a heavy pause while Pierce picks up his glass and settles his hip against the bar. Lucifer’s eyes flicker down to the man’s lips as he seals them around the lip and takes a decent sip.

‘At least you drink the good stuff,’ Pierce acknowledges after he’s swallowed.

‘Well, of course,’ Lucifer sniffs before turning to smile at him. ‘And after all this time, I’m sure you’ve developed quite the palate.’

Pierce shrugs. ‘I’ve eaten and drunk pretty much everything possible. The lava was an acquired taste.’

Lucifer has to bark a laugh at that. ‘I’m certain it was,’ he says warmly. ‘Hellfire is too, I hear. From those that have tasted it.’

That pause again. Gosh, Lucifer could lick the air and taste the tension. Delicious. He pauses, tapping his ring against the glass as he lazily regards the man's profile, the stern, hard lines of his face softened in the firelight. He grins to himself.

‘You know,’ Lucifer says slyly, ‘speaking of acquired tastes. I have a proposition for you regarding that pesky little intimacy issue you have.’

Pierce just stares at him repressively. Gosh, that cross, squared-jawed thing really does work for him. ‘That _I_ have?’ Then he snorts. ‘I don’t even want to ask.’

Lucifer takes a step closer, pushing into Pierce’s personal space.

‘Well, it’s all about death, isn’t it? So, what you really need,’ he smiles at Pierce warmly, ‘is someone who can’t die.’

Surprisingly, Pierce doesn’t take a step back, the way Lucifer predicted he might. He just continues to stare, eyes sharp. ‘You’re right,’ Pierce finally says. ‘Do you have your brother’s cell number?’

That ludicrous statement makes Lucifer spit out a little of his drink onto Pierce, whose expression darkens. ‘Amenadiel? Oh no, no. You want someone with _experience_.’

Pierce wipes at his face with the sleeve of his shirt and an expression of faint disgust. ‘An immortal with experience. I’m drawing a blank.’

‘Come now,’ Lucifer purrs, leaning in. ‘Our little role play in domesticity wasn’t just an excellent sting now, was it? You had fun, I’m certain of it.’

‘You grabbing my face and kissing me in front of thirty strangers? Yeah, that’s my idea of fun.’ Pierce’s tone is dry, but he hasn’t moved away and his eyes are darkening.

Lucifer shrugs with a laconic grin. ‘I can't help it if I'm an exhibitionist. Besides, it was all for a good cause, wasn't it? Maintaining our cover. One could almost consider it charity.’

Pierce huffs a short disbelieving laugh. ‘Only you would consider a ridiculous kiss from you charity.’

‘Yes, well, I am rather benevolent,’ Lucifer sniffs. His eyes flicker down to Pierce’s lips again. ‘Maybe I could give you another gift.’

His leg slides between Pierce’s as he steps even closer, pressing their bodies together. Lucifer can feel Pierce’s breath on his face - gosh he _is_ tall. Lucifer likes that in a man.

Their lips touch together. For once Lucifer is tentative, almost unsure - and then Pierce is whirling them around and slamming Lucifer against the bar, bending him backwards and kissing him aggressively. Their tongues fight for dominance, and finally Lucifer is licking at the soft heat of Pierce’s mouth. Their noses bump, breath coming in hard pants, and Lucifer’s cock is getting harder and harder in his trousers, trapped snug up against Pierce’s.

‘I assume you’ve done this before,’ Lucifer queries, pulling back just long enough to speak. He feels almost out of breath from the sheer intensity, the thrilling violence. ‘After all, you did live through Sodom and Gomorrah.’

‘Yes, Lucifer,’ Pierce sighs, their belt buckles clicking together as he shifts against Lucifer.

‘So,’ Lucifer grins, thrusting a hand between them and toying at Pierce’s belt. ‘When you were _spying_ on me, did you see anything interesting?’

‘I wasn’t _spying on you_ ,’ Pierce scoffs, his own hands moving to help Lucifer with his belt. ‘I was investigating.’

‘Of course,’ Lucifer allows easily, pushing the open belt aside and sliding Pierce’s fly loose in one smooth movement. ‘‘Investigating’. Is that what they’re calling it these days?’ He grins ignoring Pierce’s little responding frowny face.

‘You didn’t answer my question,’ he purrs, coming in closer for a teasing half-kiss. ‘Take any good photos? Some naughty little nudies? I can pose for some more if you like.’ He smiles against Pierce’s jaw, enjoying the stubble burn.

‘Lucifer,’ Pierce’s tone is chiding, but he chokes most gratifyingly when Lucifer slides his fingers below the waist of his trousers and into the boxer-briefs beneath.

‘Hmm?’ Lucifer slides his cheek against Pierce’s, pushing his hips up so that his hand traps between their pressed hips.

‘Damn you, that-’ Pierce hisses as Lucifer wraps his hand around the hard cock he finds, nice and warm in the confines of Pierce’s underwear.

Lucifer grins into the other man’s neck. ‘Problem?’ he asks innocently, then lazily twists, revelling in the strangled gasp.

Then Pierce’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing him away. Lucifer frowns but lets his hand slip free. ‘What?’ he says, looking up at Pierce with confusion. ‘Too fast? I mean I know you hadn’t had a snog for a while before today so-’

But Pierce is frowning at him, gaze penetrating as though searching for something. ‘Why are you doing this?’

Lucifer squints at him and shifts, a little uncomfortable under that look. ‘Well, I _was_ going to help you get that shag you’re so clearly needing. You know, since you cruelly refused to christen our marriage bed last night. _And_ the night before.’ He makes a small moue of dissatisfaction.

At Pierce’s grim silence, Lucifer expels an unhappy breath. Then he re-attempts, wheedling, ‘Look, we’re friends, right? Or,’ he acknowledges, ‘the closest to true friendship either of us can get. So, why not add some benefits? You’re,’ he waves a hand at Pierce, endeavouring to encompass all the _tall_ and _muscle_ and _eyes_ , ‘fit and I’m, well, _me_. Name one good reason why we shouldn’t?’

‘You’re not actually immortal.’

Lucifer frowns at that. Talk about a _non sequitur_. ‘I am,’ he counters, affronted. ‘What the me does that have to do with it?’

But Pierce just shakes his head, ignoring him. ‘You said that a demon blade could kill even you. That makes you more vulnerable than me.’

‘Well, it’s not a competition,’ protests Lucifer. Then he frowns. ‘Come now, that can’t possibly be the reason you’re being all-’ he flaps a hand, ‘- _chaste_ ,’ he finishes, in a tone of mild disgust.

Pierce scoffs sharply in response and looks away. His jaw works for a moment. Lucifer frowns, confused; the man looks agitated about something but for the life of him Lucifer just can’t figure it out.

‘Is it so surprising that I might just not be that into you?’ Pierce finally snaps.

‘Yes,’ Lucifer agrees, puzzled. ‘Have you seen me, darling? I quite literally tempted humankind into sin - or so I'm told. Well,’ he smirks, ‘you'd know.’

He ignores the deeply unimpressed look sent his way and tentatively rubs his hand along the thickness of Pierce’s dick. ‘But tell me ‘no’, and I will stop. Scout’s honour.’

Pierce clenches his jaw, looking deliciously affected. ‘You were never a Scout,’ he grumbles. He hisses as Lucifer playfully drags a fingernail across the tip of his erection. ‘Dammit.’

Lucifer grins. ‘So what’s it to be? A lovely bout of sweet naked cuddle time or-’

He licks his lips, delighted as Pierce’s gaze, pupils now blown wide, dark and shining in the lights of his penthouse, flick down to watch the movement. Then he drops his hand and steps away to lean back against the bar, leaving Pierce cold. ‘Going back to your rental for - let me guess, a no-name bottle of beer and reruns of _Survivor_?’

‘You’re right,’ Pierce replies dryly. ‘The alcohol is definitely better here.’ Then he seems to make up his mind. ‘Turn around.’

‘Oh, giving orders now are we? Maybe you’re going to have to make me, _Lieutenant_.’

The look he gives Pierce is challenging, and then Pierce has him spun around faster than you can say ‘daddy issues’. The bar is a solid pressure against Lucifer’s stomach when Pierce pushes him against it, and he’s forced to bend a little under the crowding of Pierce’s body behind him.

Lucifer is suddenly very aware of the warm firmness that pushes against the cleft of his arse. He grins wickedly before using the little space he has to push backwards against it, making Pierce shudder. Then Pierce is moving, sliding his erection up and down, bent almost double over him, the weight of his - ridiculously firm - body pressing Lucifer hard down against the bar.

Lucifer shivers at the pants of hot breath tickling the side of his neck and revels in the feeling of Pierce’s hands gripping his hips. With every hard, delicious _thrust_ , he is pushed harder into the bar, something his nether regions _definitely_ enjoy.

Lucifer palms himself, moaning as pleasure licks up his body - only to whine as suddenly Marcus’s giant hands are gripping his wrists, pulling him away. ‘No.’

‘What?’ he half-whines, but Pierce just grips his wrists tighter.

‘Put them on the bench.’ Lucifer blinks then belatedly obeys. He feels gloriously trapped, hemmed in between the heat of Pierce’s body, the cold marble of the bar and the man’s hands. As Lucifer teasingly pushes back he feels Pierce’s hands shift to cover Lucifer’s splayed fingers on the bar edge. His fingers interlace with Lucifer’s, a warm parody of Lucifer’s attempt to clasp hands back in suburbia.

‘Why,’ purrs Lucifer, ‘I had no idea you felt that way, husband mine. If you wanted us to hold hands first you should have just said.’

He grins as Pierce repays this lovely sentiment with a particularly hard thrust against his backside.

Lucifer groans as his cock is inadvertently pressed again the bar. ‘But really, aren’t you going to do anything about this?’ He complains, a little breathily. ‘And by this I do mean _Little Lucifer_. The little Devil is feeling so terribly neglected down there, you know.’

‘How,’ grunts Pierce into the shell of his ear, ‘are you _still talking_?’

Lucifer grins and opens his mouth to respond, only to be shoved hard downwards, face damn near meeting marble. His yelp, half annoyed, half thrilled is accompanied by the sudden smashing of glass as the poor bottle of his favourite - incredibly rare, _incredibly_ expensive - whiskey, goes flying and shatters into tragic collection of shards, broken dreams and alcohol.

Lucifer glares. ‘Really,’ he complains, ‘Have you any idea the effort I had to go to to get that bottle? You really are a barbarian. Were you raised in a barn?’

Pierce sighs, apparently frustrated. Well, sniffs Lucifer, serves the oaf right.

Then one of his hands slips off of Lucifer’s to palm at Lucifer’s cock through his trousers and Lucifer moans.

He feels Pierce’s mouth curve up into a smile against his ear. ‘No,’ he rumbles, sounding far too smug for his own good. ‘That would be Jesus.’

Lucifer groans again for less fun reasons. ‘Really,’ he demands. ‘I can’t believe you- _mmph_ ’, his words were abruptly cut off my the _great big paw_ over his mouth.

‘Seriously?’ he says - or he would if Pierce hadn’t apparently felt the need to _gag_ him with his calloused palm. As a result it comes out as more of an indignant ‘rrmph’.

He feels Pierce grin against his neck, no longer the proper, brooding Lieutenant he so obsessively pretends to be. Lucifer rolls his eyes and resists the urge to break the hold. After all, there are worse things than fingers, rough and warm across his mouth.

Lucifer experimentally tongues at the fingers, smirking as Pierce’s breath hitches in response. Then he pointedly bucks, taking advantage of Pierce’s distraction and his hand on Lucifer’s trousers. The pressure feels positively _divine_ as he arches his back happily, moaning in pleasure - only for the back of his head to hit something _solid_ very hard.

Pierce yelps and suddenly his hands are dropping away, instead going to his now _bleeding_ nose.

Lucifer winces, neck craned around to watch before turning to regard him. ‘...oops?’ he asks tentatively.

Pierce gives him a dirty look from over the blood.

Lucifer gives him his most apologetic, entreating look (which has enjoyed good reviews from such diverse critics as Chloe, Doctor Linda and his Mum). ‘I didn’t mean to?’ he offers.

Pierce looks (im)politely disbelieving but accepts the napkins Lucifer offers him left over from his stabbing.

‘You’re supposed to keep your head down,’ Lucifer advises helpfully only to be met with a glare.

‘I know how to treat a bloody nose, Lucifer!’

Lucifer raises his hands in surrender. His cock aches sadly from its trouser prison and Lucifer sighs before abruptly brightening.

‘Bloody nose-?’

‘Tried it.’

‘But, surely, with a splash of rat poison-’

‘ _Tried it._ ’

Lucifer deflates.

There is an awkward beat where Lucifer half-shuffles as Pierce glares.

Finally, the bleeding stops and Pierce drops the bloodied napkins onto the bar top. Catching Lucifer’s automatic look of disdain, he then sighs and puts them in the wastepaper basket.

They stare at each other, Lucifer fully dressed and still half-hard and Pierce now with blood down the front of his button neck shirt and fly still open.

Then they both speak at the same time.

‘This was a bad idea-’

‘Let me make it up to you-’

They both stop. Pierce frowns while Lucifer gives him an uneasy grin. ‘Come now,’ he entreats.

Truth be told he feels more than a little embarrassed. Sex being one of his (many) talents, Lucifer has long prided himself on being excellent in bed (and on table, in sauna and, once, memorably, aeroplane cockpit - there's a reason it's called a _cockpit_ , after all), with the only mishap he could ever think of being that unfortunate spontaneous _unfurling_ of his bloody dad-given wings. The thought that he has now managed to stuff up sex with _Pierce_ of all people is just a little galling.

‘Hard pass.’

Lucifer pouts. ‘I didn’t think a spot of blood would spoil _your_ appetite, Cain. You know, given-’

He trails off at Pierce’s look.

‘Given I killed my brother?’ Pierce challenges, face hard.

-

The room is silent for a moment then Lucifer winces. ‘I didn’t mean it _quite_ like that,’ he says weakly.

Marcus snortly bitterly. He turns away and hears Lucifer curse before trotting after him. Because of course the idiot can't just _leave_ it.

He places a tentative hand on Marcus’s arm, his hand warm on skin that had recently just washed with blood. ‘Pierce,’ he says gently. ‘I-

‘It’s not important, Lucifer. I should head back.’ He doesn’t want to, though. Wants to be anywhere but the empty apartment he’s been renting courtesy of the LAPD.

‘Come now,’ Lucifer chides. ‘You can’t be driving like that, you’ll put someone’s eye out.’

‘ _Thanks_ for your concern, but I’ll be fine.’ Marcus’s jaw twitches, but Lucifer must be able to see him wavering, because the ridiculous man just presses _closer_.

‘Let me make it up to you,’ Lucifer offers coyly. ‘Here.’ He steps back into Marcus’s space, before backing him up against the sandstone wall. ‘You just lean back, and I’ll-’ he slides down to his knees in one smooth movement, ‘do all the work.’

‘Lucifer-’ Marcus attempts, but already he’s bucking his hips forward, eyes fixed on Lucifer’s _mouth_. He gives in. ‘Fine.’

‘Good,’ Lucifer croons, like he thinks he’s damn well _won_ something, before reaching into Marcus’s open trousers and sliding out his dick. ‘Right, now let’s see what we have. Blimey, it’s a good thing I don’t have any gag reflex to speak of,’ he says, eyeing it consideringly. ‘Is that why you went with the name _Pierce_? If I hadn't met you I'd assume it was a porn star name. Actually,’ he brightens, somehow _still fucking talking_ , ‘I think I've _met_ porn stars called-’

With a sigh, Marcus lowers a hand to gently grasp Lucifer’s jaw. He feels a thrill as Lucifer stills at his touch, eyes wide and dark, as though his words are drying up. Looking at him, the Devil on his knees, in his _ridiculous_ suit and open expression, chin caught in Marcus’s grasp, Marcus feels -

Something. The heat pooling in his gut he could understand, the tingling on his skin - but there's something else too, a warmth in his chest that Marcus does not care to examine. He thinks it might have started over nachos and damned _dips_ in that suburban hell.

He doesn't like it.

‘Well,’ he says, voice coming out in rasp he doesn't like either. He drops his hand. ‘Are you going to talk all night, or are you going to _make it up_ to me?’

He sees Lucifer’s lips - his red, plush stupid lips - quirk up into a grin and then -

Heat around his cock, a clever, diligent little tongue licking, flicking, teasingly at his tip. Wet, warm suction applied in a ring slowly, so damn slowly, dragging up and down his length. It’s more than he’s had in a very long time, and it both hurts and delights him because he knows it won’t last.

He moans at the sight of Lucifer, head bobbing, mouth stretched tight, obscenely. At his moan, he sees Lucifer’s lips curve up slightly into a smile and his eyes twinkle mischievously.

Marcus has a split second to worry about what he's planning, then Lucifer hums pointedly causing thrums of pleasure to cascade through his flesh.

‘Jesus Christ,’ swears Marcus without thinking, head thrown back against the stone behind him, eyes squeezing shut.

The heat abruptly disappears. ‘Really?’ asks Lucifer waspishly, ‘I expect it from others, but you?’ Marcus blinks his eyes open.

Marcus could _kill_ him sometimes. Instead, he just shrugs awkwardly and offers a wry smile. ‘Sorry. Slip of the tongue?’

‘Hmph,’ Lucifer grunts, unimpressed, ‘I'll show you slip of the tongue,’ but his hand is back on Marcus’s dick, feeding it back into his mouth, and Marcus has to stop himself from fucking forward immediately. The little twitch of his hips makes Lucifer hum happily though, so he cautiously starts up a rhythm, reaching one hand forward to touch at Lucifer’s hair for balance.

What is meant to be a casual encouragement feels wrong to Marcus, the soft brush of fingers on Lucifer’s dark hair too tender, bordering on a caress, _reverent_ and he frowns.

His thoughts are interrupted by Lucifer who groans, eyelids fluttering at Marcus’s touch. Marcus stiffens in response, then curls his fingers into a fist, gripping tightly, almost punishingly, at Lucifer’s hair.

He expects a flinch or at least anger, but Lucifer just moans at that too and the slide of his clever mouth as Marcus thrusts in and out of that sweet suction shoots warmth up Marcus’s spine, causes his skin to flush with heat.

Marcus closes his eyes, wanting to avoid the sight below him and lose himself in the warmth. For a moment his mind, full of shadows and lost worlds, drifts. And for that moment, he can see _them_ , images of lovers and loves past shining in his mind, and he is transported back by the oldest enemy of all - memory.

The warmth below could be Anna, her golden hair shining in the morning light, that mouth Oscar, blue eyes sparkling up at him -

And then it's gone and Marcus _aches_.

Unconsciously, he must twist his hand in the soft hair between his fingers, because Lucifer makes a noise, low and desperate.

Marcus’s eye flick open and he looks down, watching distantly as the firelight plays across Lucifer’s - admittedly lovely - features, shadows pooling in the hollows of his cheeks as be diligently applies himself for Marcus’s pleasure.

This is not what Marcus expected when he plotted to kidnap the Devil. The man - for he seems to be more of man, more _human_ every second Marcus spends in his company - a confounding mix of sweet and infuriating. And the way he looks at Marcus - like he's _hopeful_.

Marcus tenses, grip abruptly harsher on Lucifer’s head.

He didn't ask for Lucifer to look at him like that.

He doesn't want anyone to.

But Lucifer moans at the touch, eyelashes fluttering so damn prettily and Marcus can't help note with something like morbid fascination that Lucifer only has one hand on his own dick, palming it through the fabric of his suit pants.

Then Lucifer _does_ something, Jesus, what the hell is that - something intricate and warm and _tight_ , the flat of his tongue then lathing like a fucking cat along the tip and Marcus is groaning, _coming_ as waves of pleasure overwhelm him.

Through it all Lucifer doesn't let go, just swallows and swallows, mouth curving warmly against his dick into a faint smile.

‘Oh,’ Marcus groans, slamming his head against the wall. His knees feel weak, like someone had taken a mallet to them, and he grips the sandstone behind him to stay upright, other hand absently running through Lucifer’s hair. There are stars behind his eyelids from where he’d clenched his eyes shut too hard. ‘ _Lucifer_.’

Lucifer suckles gently at his softening cock, and when Marcus opens his eyes it’s to a startling image, Lucifer kneeling at his feet, dark hair mussed and glowing softly in the yellow lights of his apartment. His smoky eyelashes frame his eyes perfectly as he looks up knowingly at Pierce and just behind him -

There are _wings_.

Marcus stares, mouth dropping open just a bit.

In his long, so fucking _long_ , life he has seen other angels, has stalked all the celestial creatures he could find. He's no stranger to the so-called _divine_. But he had never, ever seen _this_.

They’re not exactly what Marcus had imagined.

Big and white and _fluffy_. They are actually, well. Beautiful. Long white feathers emitting pure light and banishing all the shadows around them. He stares.

‘Lucifer,’ he gasps.

Lucifer slowly and carefully lets Marcus’s cock slide from his mouth, then raises a gentle hand to tuck it back into his pants.

‘Did you?’ Marcus asks, breathlessly, still staring at the being in front of him who has never been so clearly inhuman.

‘What, simultaneous orgasms?’ Lucifer scoffs, voice a little hoarse. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Have you any idea how rare that is?’ Then he pauses and frowns up at Marcus. ‘What’s wrong? Do I have come on my face?’ He lifts a hand to his mouth to check.

‘What?’ Marcus blinks, trying to break out of the spell.

‘You’re staring,’ Lucifer points out. ‘And while I definitely understand the allure - who wouldn't stare at me if given the opportunity - it is a _tad_ unnerving.’

Then he follows Marcus’s gaze past his shoulder and looks. At his _wings_.

‘Oh bloody hell,’ he swears. ‘Not _again_. I swear these things are like damned chastity belts.’

At Marcus’s confused expression, Lucifer grumpily explains, ‘They keep popping out at the worst possible moments. I can't tell you the number of times I've been victim to _flappus interruptus_ with people wanting to flipping pray or convert or what have you.’ He shudders before looking at Marcus as though abruptly suspicious.

‘ _You_ don't want to suddenly get on your knees for Dad, do you? Because let me tell you right now, that is not a turn on.’

As it transpires, the perfect antidote to sudden exposure to the divine, reflects Marcus wryly, is said divinity looking and sounding like _this_.

‘Let me help with that,’ he redirects, indicating the bulge still prominently tenting Lucifer’s pants. He ignores the way Lucifer brightens and he _definitely_ ignores the wings flapping, as though in excitement.

Marcus has worked hard over the years to maintain his sanity despite, well. Everything. He's not about to let an idiotic fallen angel - no matter how winged or pretty - undo all his hard work. He slides down to his knees so that he’s at the same level as Lucifer.

‘Thought you’d never offer,’ Lucifer whinges, leaning back to rest his weight on his hands and kicking his legs open, barely missing Marcus in the process.

His _wings_ also flap out chaotically, knocking over three bar stools and nearly whacking Marcus in the mouth.

Lucifer looks so chagrined and aggravated that Marcus laughs, all traces of reluctant awe thankfully gone. And then, with a wry smirk, he has a hand on Lucifer’s crotch.

It doesn’t take much- for all of Lucifer’s stamina all that Marcus has to do is run his hand over the bulge of Lucifer’s fly, a swipe at the seam, a small squeeze, and Lucifer is gasping, panting in an uncontrolled and almost undignified way as he comes in his pants.

And then they’re just two guys: the Devil - with wings - and… whatever Marcus is now. Cursed, mostly - sitting on the floor of Lucifer’s penthouse.

There’s a beat while Lucifer gets his breathing under control, and then Marcus smirks.

‘Nice feathers.’


End file.
